


The Moon Wanted More of My Night

by queenklu



Category: NCIS
Genre: Fairies, Fanfiction, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/pseuds/queenklu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his head there was always moonlight, but that's what you get when the object of your highly illicit desires is a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Wanted More of My Night

“Hey boss!” Tony stopped when Gibbs snagged the 20-oz-er of coffee (that Tony had all-but crafted, lets be honest, because there’s black and then there’s _black)_ and chugged it all in one scalding go.

 

“Uh-oh,” Tony blurted, brain-to-mouth filter a predictable zero, “That time of the month again already?”

 

“Well, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said in that dangerous what-do-you-think drawl, “You tell me. You’re the one with the days blacked out on your calendar.”

 

“Oh. That. Ha ha.” He sat up straighter to keep himself from wincing, and maybe just managed to hide the blacked out corner with his head. “That was— Abby got creative.”

 

“She drawing doodles of me bending you over a gravestone in the moonlight again?”

 

That Gibbs could even _say_ that with a semi-straight face was unethically unfair, and not just because Tony’s insides were doing some uncomfortable bending of their own. “Didn’t want you to think my workspace was anything but professional, boss,” he got out somehow, and accepted Gibbs’ pointed look at his ‘Classic Cars and the Babes Who Drive Them’ month planner in favor of not telling his team leader how very much he’d like to bring a little truth to Abby’s wishful thinking, gravestones optional.

 

(In his head there was always moonlight, though, but that’s what you get when the object of your highly illicit desires is a werewolf.)

 

“You sure you want to take on a case right now, boss?” McGee needled from his nest of tangled modems and motherboards and whatever else techfairies liked to play with. Tony left the pixie stuff alone as much as he could—way, way over his head, not that he’d ever admit it—but he liked McGee well enough (again, not rushing to advertise). He had an almost baby-fat pudgyness around his face that made him seem fore human, and as one of the few humans on the team, Tony appreciated that. “It might be—Hey! Who switched the keys to read ‘elflord?’”

 

“You really have to ask?” Ziva cocked her head towards Tony, and no way did she not have something mythical in her heritage. Most Mosad agents did.

 

“How’d you get the extra L?” Gibbs asked, low whispery morning-growl just of his peripheral vision. Every hair on Tony’s body tingled in the least appropriate ways.

 

“Ah…Whiteout. Used to be an I.”

 

“That’s using your head for more than propping your neck up,” Gibbs said with just a touch of appreciative condescension, and Tony really needed a head smack right the fuck now. “And McGee,” he continued, striding behind his desk, “murders don’t stop needing solving just because I can’t work nights. DiNozzo’s taking point, so you talk to him when I’m indisposed.”

 

Tony couldn’t quite swallow an unamused snort, which earned him the full brunt of Gibbs’ too-blue stare.

 

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, voice deceptively soft (coffee always calmed him down, but whether that was a Gibbs thing or a werewolf thing wasn’t easily determined), “You looking for a demotion?”

 

“Definitely not, boss.” Tony made himself smile, but the way he ducked and tilted his head a fraction of an inch to bare his throat—well, that he meant. Something shifted in Gibbs’ eyes, and Tony knew he got it.

 

He just didn’t like Gibbs using the official bureaucratese for ‘Locked in a five-by-five cell underground and under guard.’

 

~*~

 

It was gonna be an easy case, at least. Girlfriend was looking pretty good for it, especially since she’d skipped town with all the money from their joint checking. (Honestly. Who gets joint checking with someone they aren’t legally bound to? This here was sheer Darwinism—survival of the not dumb.) In any case, there wasn’t much more they could do but put a bolo on her and set McGee rifling through her computery type records. And wait.

 

DiNozzo let Ziva catch Elflord (whose wings were still buzzing angrily about his keyboard) up on what they’d learned today and wandered, casually, in the direction of the morgue. It was just now getting dusky outside, so Ducky would be rising soon, in time to slip Gibbs some meds to keep him calm during the turning. Then Gibbs would run off to be “indisposed,” and Tony wouldn’t see him until the morning.

 

It shouldn’t have seemed like such a long time.

 

“Hey boss,” he said as the door snicked open, easy as you please. Gibbs’ eyes were waiting for him, like he’d been listening to Tony heading this way since he’d stood up at his desk and strolled to the elevator.

 

“Solve the case already?” Gibbs’ voice was dry, but amused in a way Tony liked to pretend only he could pick up on.

 

“Yeah boss! Just waiting for her to walk on in wearing handcuffs.” He leaned back against the column of drawers next to Ducky’s. “If you trust your gut feeling, which I do.”

 

“Gut’s got a lot to do with it,” Gibbs agreed, then slid off the autopsy tale he’d been sitting on. Tony, as helpless as it was, still tried to keep from aching at the sight of Gibbs’ bare feet. “Scent, though.” He shrugged, strong shoulders rolling under the thin cotton of his shirt as he crossed his arms. “Even you could smell the perfume on the body didn’t belong to his girlfriend.”

 

Classic Gibbs. Trying to pass off the inhuman abilities which, yeah, made him unnaturally good at his job, but were just as much a part of him as the very human intelligence that put all the pieces together. Tony shook his head, words cut short by the loud metal clang of Ducky’s drawer sliding open.

 

“Tony!” the good doctor exclaimed, adjusting his bowtie as he clambered on down, “To what do I owe the pleasure? You’ve not come to give blood, have you?”

 

“Not tonight, Ducky. Maybe for your deathday.”

 

“Ah.” The Doc didn’t look too disappointed, but then again, the government was mass producing enough simulated human blood to fill his little morgue staff refrigerator, so it wasn’t like he was wasting away. And if Tony maybe shot a little resentful glance towards the fridge that contained no such easy fix for his boss, well. Gibbs was probably the only one who would notice. “Have I mentioned lately that I’m so very glad you’ve not turned into one of those—what did Abby call them? Fangbangers?”

 

“Oh no way,” Tony laughed as Ducky got Gibbs’ hypo ready to slip between Gibbs’ toes. “I’m team Jacob all the way.”

 

Gibbs smiled, first time today even if it stayed mostly in his eyes, and Tony felt like he’d won something. Chasing natural highs ran in the DiNozzo gene pool—probably what gave him the courage to offer Gibbs a ride to the warehouse. Definitely not because he knew Gibbs was under the rush of relaxant when he asked.

 

“You sure, Tony?” No sign of amusement now, not even with his pupils all-but swallowing the pale blue of Gibbs’ irises.

 

“Yeah!” Classic DiNozzo flippancy to cover the shiver in his belly. He could count the number of times Gibbs had called him by his first name without hitting double digits, and most all of them were immediately after a near-death experience. “Give Ducky a night off—why not? Got nowhere else to be.”

 

“I would appreciate it—if you don’t mind, of course, Jethro,” the Doc deferred, blinking soulless black eyes as he poured himself a cup of reddish…tea. “It’s only that I’ve got quite a few bodies that need draining before I can begin the autopsies…”

 

Gibbs was already lacing up his shoes and heading for the door, so Tony took that as agreement and followed with one last parting shot. “Could let the machines take a couple off your hands. Not to say you aren’t looking—“

 

“A little less than trim, I am well aware. Tony,” Ducky added, calling him back without any of the previous malice in his tone, “take special care with Jethro this evening. There’s something a little…off.”

 

“Will do, Duckster,” Tony promised, pausing long enough to show that he meant it, and took off after Gibbs before his boss decided to hoof—or paw—it all the way there.

 

~*~

 

“Tony,” Gibbs said, and Tony couldn’t repress a shiver that made his fingers clench on the wheel—twice in ten minutes? Jesus. Anyone would get tingly hearing Gibbs say their name.

 

“Yeah, boss,” he said without letting himself glance over. He didn’t need to look to see Gibbs watching him with unwavering attention, with a careful, predatory ease that was probably a side-effect of whatever Ducky had slipped him but _honestly,_ one that was going to get them wrapped around a tree if Tony let himself enjoy it.

 

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been breathing down my neck lately?”

 

Tony didn’t have to work too hard to sound hurt instead of just breathless and pathetically turned on. “Always on your six, boss.”

 

“Tony.”

 

 _Christ,_ three times? He white-knuckled the wheel before he answered. “One of those things you don’t want me to tell you, boss.” Boss, boss, boss. Maybe if he said it enough one of them would take a hint.

 

He’d sat through how many Working With a Werewolf seminars? He knew all about how they could smell chemical reactions to certain emotions—fear, sometimes happiness…arousal. Arousal was a big one, and there wasn’t anything he could do but sit there excreting pheromones that screamed ‘FUCK ME!’ He’d realized this about himself, and he’d realized that Gibbs would have done something by now if he’d wanted to, but he couldn’t make himself _stop._

 

“You’re telling me plenty,” Gibbs said, almost murmured, and Tony went hot, cold, and yanked them back into the right hand lane.

 

“Gibbs,” he croaked, skin pulled too tight. Part of the only thing that kept him sane was the fact that Gibbs _did not acknowledge—_

 

“Way I see it, you’ve got two options,” Gibbs rumbled, shifting in his seat into something that was closer to feral. “One, you roll down the window, invest in some god-awful cologne, set your sights on Ziva or McGee. Or…”

 

“Or, boss?” Tony asked, fighting to keep his jaw unclenched. “Because option one isn’t much of an option.”

 

Gibbs gaze slammed into him so hard Tony _panted_ at the effort it took to keep his eyes on the road.

 

“Pull over.”

 

Tony swallowed a whimper, with limited success. “Boss—“

 

“Now, DiNozzo, or this conversation never happened.”

 

He wasn’t snapping, wasn’t barking orders—it was that soft gravelly sort of tone that meant it was your call, and he would support you 10,000%, even if you were dead wrong.

 

Tony was pretty sure either option was dead wrong. His tires hit the bump strop, and then the shoulder, and he could barely hear it over the rush of blood from his brain to far less intelligent areas of his body, and he _still_ knew he was dead wrong.

 

Gibbs had him before he could get the car into park, half-way into Tony’s seat with Tony shoved flat against the door. But Gibbs wasn’t kissing him. He was nose-to-nose, hot breath fanning over Tony’s flushed face, and _snarling._ The moon wasn’t up— _not yet not yet_ —but there was just enough inhuman in his face to make Tony’s hair stand on end. And he had to reconsider that 10,000%.

 

Then Gibbs hands were on him—on his belt but not opening it, which wasn’t ideal but making his dick very happy as Gibbs arranged Tony’s legs and hips until he fit between them. His mouth hit Tony like a freight train, teeth-tongue-lips all at once, making Tony fucking squirm because—Jesus, _yes._ God.

 

Fast, messy—Gibbs backed off just far enough to pant against Tony’s wet, bruised lips and Tony couldn’t even figure out how to breathe. All before Gibbs tucked his face under Tony’s jaw and nudged until he bared his throat—and Tony’s brain popped and sizzled as it fried.

 

“If this doesn’t get it out of your system,” he growled right against Tony’s jugular, gun-calloused hands catching and pinning his wrists, “you come back to _me,_ understand? Cruising for this kind of tail will get you killed.”

 

“Wha—“ Tony gasped, because no, wait, but Gibbs scraped the flat of his teeth over Tony’s pulse and he liquefied, boneless needy desperate panting bitch in heat. His hips slammed up, trapped against Gibbs’ thighs and fuck, the _whine_ torn out of his throat— Gibbs answered it with a growl that made the head of Tony’s cock pulse sloppy and wet.

 

But it was all Gibbs. It was all for _Gibbs_. Not a werewolf, not the danger—though that wasn’t taking an edge off things—and not some furbanger desire to get bitten. If that’s what Gibbs thought—

 

Tony wrenched his hands free and caught Gibbs’ head between them, kissed him like Gibbs was meant to be kissed. Black and white movie kind of kiss, something classic and timeless and maybe a little more x-rated than would appear on the silver screen but fuck it. Gibbs went quiet, not stiff but surprised, and how often did Tony get one up on his boss? Once in a lifetime.

 

 _This here is called necking,_ he thought a little deliriously as Gibbs got caught up in the new programming and stroked down Tony’s sides. _And as soon as I get you in the backseat gonna teach you the meaning of power bottom._

 

They didn’t have anything and they had places to be, but Tony really wasn’t planning on marathoning it with an honest to god Jethro Gibbs to rub off on. Gibbs, who wrapped an arm around Tony’s back and a hand around their straining erections and completely shattered Tony’s mind. He rallied just enough brain cells to play with the glistening slits of their cocks, watching Gibbs’ face, watching his muscles shift and ripple and turn everything in Tony to quivering mush. He’d dreamed about this, about Gibbs iron control even as Tony took him apart.

 

Tony had such ridiculous unshakable faith in Gibbs it wasn’t even a blip of fear on his radar, just something else of Gibbs to file away along with the way his teeth bared when Tony reared up over him, feeling that faith burning up through his bones like wildfire. Every grunt and gasp he wrung out of Gibbs with the twists of his slick and unsteady hands fueled it higher, too big to contain as his body fought to get free before it overwhelmed him, and Gibbs caught the back of his head in one hand and pulled him down, kissing Tony the way Tony was meant to be kissed, like he’d known how all along.

 

Tony spilled helplessly over their hands, overflowing with feeling until he was wrung out, cock jerking against Gibbs’ as those beautiful fingers coaxed out every last drop. He crumpled, big bad DiNozzo as weak as a newborn kitten, shivering and nuzzling blindly for Gibbs’ skin. He caught the edge of Gibbs’ jaw with his mouth and kissed there, sweet and simple as he smeared his slick over Gibbs’ shaft, tangling their fingers together as they stroked.

 

He just managed to get his eyes open in time to watch Gibbs fall apart under him, and it was like watching a lost classic, something out of the vaults, 3D surround sound, private screening. And the noise Gibbs made—strangled, low yelp like he didn’t mean to make a sound—two thumbs way, way up. If Tony had a third thumb, or enough energy for a second round, it’d be up there too.

 

“Can’t get what I want from anyone else,” Tony nodded, nearly like he was reiterating what he’d been made to swear to. Then he kissed the clicking gears right out of Gibbs’ head.

 

And the moon rose, big and beautiful, spilling into the car.

 

  
THE END


End file.
